


Yearbook Quotes

by SandrC



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21819034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: Because everyone knows that the photo in your yearbook is the best representation of you as a person!(A collection of unrelated Dimension 20 oneshots from my tumblr.)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 99





	1. Sandralynn — QuietChelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandralynn fucked up.
> 
> She is not a bad person, she is just a person.
> 
> The end.
> 
> No additional warnings.

She couldn’t be mad. Or, _no_. She _could_ be mad, but it would be counter-productive. Buckling down would only cause Fig to shut down and that wouldn’t solve anything.

Besides, who was _she_ to judge? She’d done some dumb shit when she was younger! Fig herself was proof of that—not that she would _ever_ consider Fig “dumb shit”, but the resulting issue between her, Gorthelax, and Gilear had been some _dumb shit._

So she couldn’t be _too_ mad. That was a word she could append to her feelings with no guilt. “ ** _Too_** ”.

Instead, what she _could_ do, was hear her out. Not judge (too hard) or berate (out loud) or even deride (she wouldn’t deserve it anyway). Just listen and commiserate. Because what Fig _needs_ is someone who will listen. And it’s not like her friends _don’t_ listen, but there is a degree of performance to her interactions with them that maybe even _she_ isn’t aware of. Like she’s keeping them at arm’s-length in case shit goes south.

Like she’s afraid that they’ll hate her if she’s not good enough.

**_…_ **

_Oof_. That was something to talk to Gilear about. _Later_ though. For now, it was time for them to rest and keep watch in shifts and for her to be a good hireling. To keep them safe. To keep _her_ safe.


	2. Ragh — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Ragh Barkrock. I really do. He's a good meathead. A baby.
> 
> I'm still angry about his mom. We will not talk about that now.
> 
> Hey, fuck Coach Daybreak though! Forreal!
> 
> Warning: implied emotional abuse, implied homophobia, threats against children

He doesn’t like thinking. He gets lost in his own head sometimes. Even though people call him dumb and slow and shit, like he doesn’t understand shit, he has a big head he can get lost in. _Especially_ if he’s not careful. Then he gets all sad and shit coz he’s thinking too much and then he has to hit sandbags or dunk Zayn in the fucking trash bin until he can drag himself free. Feeling sad hurts. _Fuck that noise._

When he looks at Dayne, there’s too much of this soft warmth and tightening of his chest and he wants to punch Dayne’s face with his face _so bad_! But that’s _gay_ and people’d call _him_ gay and that’d fucking suck. So he _doesn’t_. He just _wants to_ and he _hates_ that he wants to and it makes him angry and then he checks this fucking dweeb-ass freshman into the lockers. Then a fight but that’s fine. Fights are red and blood and he doesn’t have to think when he fights. _He_ just has to hit.

Coach Daybreak is nice and shit. Takes care of the Owlbears ( _Hoot! Growl!_ ) and makes sure the team is in working order. He also makes it so he doesn’t have to think so hard. Coach says “go kick the shit out of this goth kid” and he does. Coach says “help me do this thing” and he does. Coach gets mad coz he fucking dunks that cleric girl’s book in the corn and says he’s in trouble and he’s thinking again. Drowning in the worry that maybe he’s fucked up the one relationship he has with someone who isn’t his mom. So he apologizes but Coach is all mad and shit and has him go fuck shit up and he doesn’t have to think after that.

It’s fucking weird though. Even though he was so fucking rude to these fucking dumbass freshies, they fucking saved him and told him to go talk to the new counselor dude and that he was gay but not in a _bad_ way? They _threatened_ him, sure, but like, that’s how things work, _right_? And Coach was gone and _maybe_ if he figured shit out he could tell Dayne that he wanted to fucking make out with him and things would be _okay_? And the dweeb-ass freshman he checked into a locker on the first day has him in a decent headlock and is screaming and, yeah, he gets that. And the cleric chick is the one that brought him back and that’s gotta mean _something_. So, _sure_ , if he doesn’t have to think, he’ll do what they ask. Coz thinking always gets him sad and into trouble and shit and he doesn’t like that.

The counselor dude—Jawbone, who is a werewolf and also _dope as fuck_ —says he’s repressed and _maybe_ that using violence as escapism isn’t good for his mental well-being. Also that being gay is fine and nothing to be ashamed of. And that maybe he can work on thinking more so he doesn’t sink so fast into his own brain. It’s helpful.

 _But_ he tells Dayne he likes him and the dude fucking blacks his eye.

 _But_ the vice principal is a fucking dragon and attacking the school.

 _But_ the freshman who saved (hurt, used, intimidated, helped) him ask for help and he’s drowning in his thoughts and fears.

 _But_ he dies again and they bring him back and they win and that’s fucking _dope_!

 _But_ there’s something going on and this cat lady hurts his mom and every bit of control he’s built is gone and he’s drowning _drowning **drowning.**_

 _But_ the Bad Kids—that’s their fucking team name, which is fucking _great_ , right?—ask for him to come with them on their fucking midterm adventure and that’s enough for him to graduate finally.

 _But_ they have a picture of that cat lady and none of them can see her.

 _But_ they ask and he **_can’t_**.

 _But_ they offer him support.

They ask again, in his head. Offer him one of those donut-shaped floatie things, the fucking lifesavers or whatever they’re called. And he trusts them—not because he _doesn’t_ have to think around them, like Coach and Dayne and fighting, but because they _help_ him think—and he tells them and they wanna help more. The space in his head gets smaller coz they pad the insides with blankets and magic and understanding and that’s pretty fucking awesome of them.


	3. Fabian — fangirlsftw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever loved a character so much and also wanted to punch their teeth in? Coz that's me and Fabian and boy will I give Lou props for making this internal debate happen. Boy, baby, Fabian, sweetheart, I love you? You need to STOP.
> 
> Anyway I'm gonna celebrate being kinda right about Fabian and his issues wrt his dad by thinking about how I want him to be happy.
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

His name is Fabian Armais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster, and he has never been called anything less by anyone who matters. Still, it is strange the intimacy that someone saying his name can bring.

“ _Fa_ bian,” Riz drawls, eyes rolling, scrambling away from where he’d posted up during their brawl. His smile is jagged and sincere. His complaints about Fabian’s performance simply a thinly veiled compliment. Even if they didn’t try the fastball special this time.

“ ** _Fabian_** ,” Adaine howls when he makes some kind of (apparently uncouth) comment she disagrees with. Despite them both being of affluent families, she seems to lavish in being a commoner. Still, her giggled admonitions are meant with care and he takes them as such.

“Fa _bi_ an,” Fig calls out, like his name is three words, each syllable buckshot. She grabs him by the hands—something no one has ever done before—and drags him off on some wild adventure. She sees him as a cohort and comrade in arms and, out of the whole group, the one person least likely to tell her no. She’s right on the latter note.

“Fabia _n_ ,” his name is a sigh when Kristen says it, mouth cocked in an exasperated smile. Her hands glow with holy light and she gets him up and running again with little complaint. And when it comes down to it, he finds he can seek shelter in her Guardians, knowing she’ll protect him.

“Fa _bian_ ,” Gorgug calls out, excited. Even after their initial rough meeting—for which Fabian has apologized many times over—Gorgug always seems to blow away his natural shy nature to yell across hallways to greet his friends. It is a simple gesture that means the world to him, even if he’d never admit it.

His name is Fabian Armais Seacaster. They call him Fabian. That’s enough for him.


	4. Jawbone — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know I love Jawbone? Everyone should know I love Jawbone.
> 
> Hey guys? I love Jawbone. He's my dad.
> 
> Warning: mild offhand mention of suicide

It’s real interesting how being kind to folks will enrich your life. Not _just_ in the simple ways—knowing that someone is doing okay is enough to bring a smile to your face on even the darkest of days—but also in the long term. Like knowing they won’t kill themselves or that they have a place to stay the night, even if it’s only temporary.

What was it that Bob Ross said? “There are no mistakes, only happy little accidents?” _Yeah_ , that’s a good motto to live by.

 _Adaine_? Happy accident that became something great. He had a steady job, three new kids that he’d _happily_ claim on his taxes, a girlfriend, and a bunch of other kids who are doing better by virtue of him being there and listening.

So as he greets the morning in his new home with a cup of joe in a mug promoting Kristen’s religion, scratching idly at his chin and wondering if Zayn needs anything, he is content as he ever will be. Even as he spills his coffee on his pants.

Happy accidents and all.


	5. Zayn — storybook-souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> storybook-souls: consider Zayn Darkshadow  
> Me, having not done that before: ....huh.......
> 
> Anyway, Zayn is trans and transitioned when he left Spyre's version of the Underdark, hence him needing to be independent. This is my headcanon and I have spoken it into being.
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

Zayn’s life could be divided into neat thirds based on major events that changed everything. The first third was a miserable existence down in Underdark, beneath the surface, answering to a name he hated. The second third was in _Aguefort's_ , emancipated, new ID in hand, and _immediately_ ostracized for reasons that only became clear _after_ the fact. The last third was his new lease on (un) life as a ghost—albeit a ghost with _friends_ and _career options_ and a _steady 3.8 GPA_.

But, if he was being honest, he was actually _most_ chill being dead. Or _undead_? The technicality was all legal mumbo-jumbo that one of his friends ( ** _!_** ) Adaine had assisted in finessing to allow him to still attend Aguefort's under an inclusion outreach. _Regardless_ , he was pretty happy now that his heart had stopped beating.

If he had told much younger him that his name was Zayn Darkshadow and that he had a rat familiar that loved him and friends that cared about him, the dude would probably not believe him. That’s how _wild_ it was that he was here, now, living in a graveyard next to a werewolf and a large communal household of all of his friends.

So, _sure_ , dying sucked, but what came after was _so_ much better.


	6. Gilear — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilear is a sad man but he's doing his best. His best just is...bad, is all...
> 
> Give the man a break, Brennan. Please. Adaine is gone and she was the only one who didn't torment him. Please let him rest, Brennan.
> 
> Warning: canon temporary character death

Gilear has made a _lot_ of mistakes. He would even be the first person to admit them. It was part and parcel of being mortal.

He rushed into marriage with a woman who was coping with her understanding of time and her place in it. He lashed out at Fig because of betrayal _he_ felt in _her_ revealed heritage. He _left_ Fig when she needed him the most and became a _burden_ when she was competent enough to take care of herself. He rushed into a relationship with a woman who had just lost her husband—against the protests of her son, who had _every_ right to not want his father to be supplanted in his home life so soon—and was only seeking someone to hold on to that shared her lifespan. He agreed to be part of Fig’s adventuring party—even _if_ he didn’t really have a choice, as Aguefort was forceful and made his point clear. _He **died.**_

That last one was _no one’s_ fault. Not _wholly_. Gilear, after all, was _just_ a man. _Just some guy_. Not _strong_ , like his ex-wife, or _clever_ and _magic_ , like his daughter. Not _experienced_ like Kristen’s girlfriend or the rest of the self-proclaimed Bad Kids. Just a man who had let himself go and was trying his hardest.

The barlgura slammed its meaty fists into the side of his head and _everything went cold_. For a moment he was nothing and nowhere, floating and _so_ self aware of _hurt_. _He was dead_. Then he felt the curling warmth of magic that smelled of cloves and nail polish, magic that was _so familiar it hurt_ , and Fig was _apologizing_ to him.

She clutched his soul close to her chest, cast it into her shadow, and wept. She apologized for putting him in danger. For making him come even if he didn’t want to. _Letting him die._

When Kristen took his soul from Fig—her magic like coffee that’s _just_ warm enough to still be enjoyable and smelling of toasted corn—and coaxed it back into his body, knitting his flesh back together, he breathed in and it was _a relief._ His heartbeat. The pain of his bruised ribs. _Being **alive.**_

Fig tried to pay him off and asked him to leave, wanted him to be safe, but he _refused_.

He’s made a lot of mistakes, but staying with this group of homicidal, suicidally brave teens and their adventuring group _wasn’t_ one of them.

He’d already left her _once_. He wouldn’t a second time.


	7. Fig — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a really interesting dichotomy between the Fig that we meet in the first episode and the Figueroth Faeth who existed before that. I wanted to play in that space.
> 
> (Divorce kids unite!)
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

Fig is brash and bold and angry.

(Figueroth Faeth is pink and bubbly and perfect.)

Fig is fishnets and metal and more black than _anyone_ has worn in her household, as far as she knows.

(Figueroth Faeth is trying her best and is happy to be there, even if no one else seems to really call her their _best_ friend or anything.)

Fig smokes cloves and steals alcohol and swears at her mom and Gilear because _fuck em_ , right?!

(Figueroth Faeth’s head hurts all the time and her mom won’t look her in the eyes and she doesn’t know _why_.)

Fig gets detention on the first day of school and watches three people die and two come back and two more die and is scared that _maybe_ she’s wasting her life being mad at the wrong people.

(Figueroth Faeth’s horns come in and she doesn’t understand what this means until her dad calls her a _hellspawn_ and leaves without another word.)

Fig is afraid that these people who call her _friend_ will leave like Gilear did and she latches on to that fear instead of the anger and tries to repair that particular burned bridge.

(Figueroth Faeth spends a lot of her time crying and wondering what she did wrong to fuck up her life so bad.)

Fig finds out who her dad is — even though she has Gilear, but now she has _two_ dads and _that’s_ fucking cool — and he’s _so nice_ and he says she shouldn’t be too hard on her mom but it hurt and she doesn’t know how to feel.

(Figueroth Faeth is certain that if her dad thinks she’s a hellspawn, then she’ll fucking _look_ the part.)

Fig Faeth-the-Insatiable is surrounded by friends and both her dads and her mom and her friend’s families and she has _never_ felt more happy in her life.

(Fig wonders if anyone can _really_ love her as a person and, if so, if they’re lying like _she_ is.)


	8. Ricky Matsui — fangirlsftw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first non-FH character study! There haven't been a lot of these yet, so who knows, but I did love writing this one. Mainly coz I love Zac and how he plays his sweet idiots.
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

Ricky is not _dumb_. Sure, he’s not _smart_ , but he’s not dumb.

He knows Jeffrey isn’t the guy’s name but he doesn’t press. If he’s afraid of going to the hospital, then he has a good reason, surely, and if he’s calling himself Jeffrey, then he must not want to give out his name. Maybe it’s a faerie thing. But when it comes to it, his name is Pete, and he needs to come clean.

He knows Kugrash doesn’t like to talk about his past and, the more they press, the sharper his edges get. So he waa a guy named Bruce once and he wasn’t a good person and that’s it. _The end._ So Ricky stops asking and that’s that.

He knows Esther isn’t ready to be in a relationship and that’s fine. It _hurts_ , as all kinds of rejection do, but he can wait. It’s up to her. A relationship is a covenant, an _agreement_. And if _or when_ she’s ready, then she’s ready. Otherwise, there’s no point pushing. She’s probably got a good reason though.

He knows that the instant that he uses this new skill that has been gifted to him, Kingston will have his back. He’s worked alongside the Vox Populi for a long time now. Kingston is first to heal and last to retaliate. It is in his nature. So he turns and nods at Kingston, says “ _you got me_ ”, and lets loose. And when Kingston strolls into Heaven and signs off on bringing him back, Ricky smiles wide. Coz he had him.

So _yeah_ , not particularly smart. He couldn’t tell you what _Sinatra’s Law_ was before having it explained to him. He couldn’t read _half_ the books Esther has. He wasn’t into more intellectual things. But he knew _people_ and he knew _his friends_ and he knew his _limits_.

He isn’t dumb either.


	9. Sokhbarr — fangirlsftw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Bloodkeep is criminally (ha!) underrated. I also think Trapp played a very fun ranger. Was he a ranger? I think he was a ranger. I don't remember tbh.
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

Sokhbarr has never understood why the others have disliked his job or looked down on him. He has what is arguably the most important job in the entire Bloodkeep: he keeps the Wargs and mounts and monsters up and running.

Without him, the orcs and goblin hoards would be without their scouts and mounts. Without him, the Pactwraiths would be without their precious wyverns coz they’d work them into the dirt. Without him, the beasts of the world outside would swarm and tear and eat until there was nothing left.

Besides, he’s always most certain that his best work is J'er'em'ih, who is more than just a companion. He’s family and one day, someone will have a nightmare about a scream beast and there will be more of him. Until then, he’ll cut free the afterbirth any creature or nightmare that J'er'em'ih brings forth and send them to do whatever dark bidding they think of first.

(But really, could the fucking wraiths stop kicking the wyverns so hard? And maybe if they could feed the wargs more, they would work better. Fuck. Common decency.)


	10. Sklonda — celestial-heiroglyphs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sklonda is one of my favorite FH moms. Namely coz she decided to let Riz just up and have a gun. This has been proven to be a foolish decision on her part, as she kept finding him at crime scenes, having CAUSED the crime, throughout freshman year.
> 
> I don't think Aguefort will tell her what the fuck is up, if only coz that asshole doesn't care much about anything save what has his attention at any one time, and last we saw he was focused on remaking Lydia's fucking clone thingy. Eugh.
> 
> Warning: mild descriptions of nightmares and the violence found within

He’s going to be _fine_. _She_ has to believe he’s going to be fine. She has to _trust_ that he’s _safe_ , that he’s _clever_ enough to escape, that he’s _smart_ enough to negotiate, that he’s more like his father than her.

If she doesn’t believe he’s fine, _she’s going to fall apart._

Everyone at the precinct has noticed. The Bad Kids have already headed off to Bastion City—following a lead to where Fig has gone, hoping that _Riz_ will be there as well—and she hasn’t been able to rest. It’s not even her coffee intake—though she’s certain _someone_ has swapped her blonde roast out for a dark decaf and her cold-brew for tepid old shit—but she’s on edge and almost every caster in the precinct is debating casting Sleep or Catnap on her. She has, of course, threatened them with paperwork and community outreach, so they stopped, but it’s the thought that counts.

She dreams of him tied up and bleeding. She dreams of him with bites taken out of him by something _horrible_. She dreams of him under Geas or some other spell, screaming at her that she didn’t save him. She dreams of him and _then he’s Pok_ and he’s begging her to help him, that the ocean is dark and deep and _crushing_.

She dreams of death but she _has_ to believe that Riz is enough like Pok that he’ll be okay.

But it’s days and there’s _silence_ and _she knows_ they’re out of reach but she’s a _mother_ and she _worries_.

The claw marks in his office. The broken mirror. The picture of Pok and Kalina, and how no one but her and Sandralynn could see her, why that was concerning, the Nightmare King. Riz missing. She had _told_ him not to spiral and he _had_ and he was _gone_ and **_he was—!_**

 _He would be okay._ He was enough like his father to be okay. He was a clever sonovabitch and **_would be okay._**

He _had_ to be okay.

She just had to trust him and _wait_.


	11. Jawbone (pt.2) — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Ragh has been through a lot.
> 
> I also think that Jawbone probably has to fight his lycan instincts a lot. He's mentioned how he stays half-shifted as a statement? That it's a way to get people to address their stigma, and that is great but — how often does he have to fight not go whole feral when he gets mad?
> 
> Warnings: mentions of child abuse (emotional, verbal)

The first time that Ragh Barkrock came to Jawbone, he had to fight every instinct in his body not to hunt down the corpse of Coach Daybreak and desecrate it. Rip it to shreds. Mutilate it further than the self-proclaimed Bad Kids had.

Because he was a child and someone had hurt him enough that he felt like he shouldn’t be thinking.

He was a child and someone had hurt him enough that he felt that any emotion other than anger was wrong and stupid.

He was a child and someone had hurt him enough that he felt that being gay was the worst thing, second only to physical death.

Ragh came to him bloodied and bruised and said something about being told to come by “those fucking freshman”. His left tusk was snapped clean off but the rounded edges indicates it was an old injury. He wouldn’t meet Jawbone’s eyes. He mumbled a lot and clenched his fists when he started to get overwhelmed. Every third word out of his mouth was “fuck”.

Jawbone had to tamp down on his desire to take in and protect this kid. He needed to be professional, even if Ragh was hurting.

He learned that Ragh lives with his mom and that’s it. He learned about Lydia Barkrock and her condition. He learned that Ragh is working jobs in addition to doing school. He learned that he doesn’t know his dad and he wants a dad so bad coz everyone else has one.

He learned that Coach Daybreak was an acting father figure for him. That Daybreak was loud and controlling. That Daybreak told him he was stupid. That Daybreak verbally abused him. That Daybreak ordered him around. That Daybreak was dead.

He tamped down the wolf in him that wanted to snarl and protect and gather and save this child from people like that who would take advantage of someone hurting. He swallowed the growling that threatened to spill over his teeth and spoke in soft, low tones. He worked out his own frustration over the matter by hitting a sandbag with Ragh to help him unblock his feelings.

(You don’t fucking tell a kid they’re dumb! You don’t fucking tell a kid they’re worthless or only around coz you’re the only one that cares for them! You don’t fucking tell a kid that feeling is stupid! You don’t fucking tell a kid that liking who they like is gonna get them sent to hell! You don’t fucking do shit like that Daybreak you dead piece of shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!)

When Ragh admitted, over his third box of tissues, that he liked guys maybe, Jawbone had to change a snarl into a smile. He looked so broken as he said, “Yeah, well it doesn’t matter if I’m on the Owlbears or nothing, coz if they find out I’m gay, they’re gonna fucking never talk to me again.”

Ragh is a child. An older child, sure, but a child nonetheless. He shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t be scared to love, to feel, to think. But Jawbone has a job and he can’t go off and shred anyone who hurts children whenever the fancy strikes him. He bares his teeth and bears his frustration. He tells Ragh it’s okay.

Maybe one day, Ragh will be better. Maybe one day he will be somewhere better, surrounded by people who actually care about him, doing something he actually likes.

Jawbone bares his teeth and prays.

Coz this is a kid, no matter what other people might say, and he deserves better.


	12. Cathilda — podcasts-and-yarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of hooting I did in the last two livestreams over how dope Cathilda is and how right I was in my assessment of her relationship with Fabian is unbearable.
> 
> Anyway, Cathilda, please adopt me. I love you. You deserve the world.
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

She’s lived a life of adventure. Despite what Master Fabian thinks—bless the dear, who has only known a silver spoon and therefore couldn’t tell his ass from the moon sometimes—she is a competent person. In fact, in what remains of Bill’s retinue, she is the one that probably had the highest body count.

So now, accompanying Master Fabian on what is supposed to be his Grand Adventure, she is content with staying well in her lane. She doesn’t need any more excitement and, considering how Madam Hallarial is, she doesn’t need young Master Fabian dying either.

(Which is not to say that she doesn’t care for the poor boy. She does. Almost as much as if he were her own—though that may be more that Hallarial spent a large portion of his early development absent and Bill wasn’t an affectionate sort in the way a child would need. But sometimes it does her well to remind him that she is paid to keep an eye on him. Humbles him, even if he doesn’t quite understand—though his bright friend Adaine does, and that’s a riot to watch in action.)

Now though? Sitting in Van, in Leviathan, having fought their way to a Fabian who won’t speak, covered in blood, eye a million miles away? She wants to take the mantle of Cathilda the Black up again, if only to make him smile.

He’s but a boy. He shouldn’t be this hurt or scared. He shouldn’t be sleeping in shifts in fear of something that attacks their dreams. He shouldn’t be curled up in a bed, one of his closest friends sleeping in a chair at the door to the room, heart a million little pieces. He shouldn’t feel the weight of having sent a dozen people to their deaths.

But she’s his maid, first and foremost, so when the panic of nightmares part long enough for Riz to stammer out that Fabian is missing, she tears off to find him.

And find him she does. Bedraggled, eyes hollow, and dripping wet. Shivering with cold and terror alike. Jacket and eyepatch off, face set in an empty dissociative panic. And she wraps him up and whispers comforts to him. She takes care of him, as is her job.

She’s lived a life of adventure. Now she’s a maid and, by any god that will listen, she will do her damn job and she will do it well.


	13. Gorgug — fangirlsftw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gorgug is a good boy and he deserves the world.
> 
> My anger is this anger. *paps the boy* I believe in you.
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

Gorgug knows anger. It’s in his veins, in his lungs, in his bones. He knows the way it tightens his muscles and clenches his fists. He knows the way it seizes his breath and steals his words and darkens his vision.

He knows anger better than he knows himself. He fears it too.

It rests, like an alien, across his sternum. Clutches his collarbone and curls tendrils into the spaces between his ribs. It compresses until he gasps, not enough to kill, but enough for discomfort. It wraps around and up and across his ears and mouth and face. Digs its talons into his ears and screams and thrashes against his heart.

When he is angry, he moves slow and careful. If he isn’t, the anger grabs him and he lashes out and hurts—himself, something, someone—and he can’t have that. Careful. _Careful_. Slow steps, slow breaths, slow smiles. He shutters his heart and drains his face. Placid demeanour and blank eyes. If he hides his heart it can’t catch, can’t take, can’t puppet. If he takes small steps, he can’t run.

In battle that’s harder but he knows he’s best when he’s with his friends. He knows they won’t let him take it too far. He knows they’ll catch and cage and drain.

And music, Zelda’s music especially, helps. Anger, even not of his own, calms. Synergy. Sympathy. It feels, like he does, and the animal releases its hold on his form and he can be _angry_ without being _anger_.

He knows anger.

And he knows he is _not_.


	14. Garthy O'Brien — QuietChelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of times I, a they/them, had to correct my pronoun usage with Garthy was untenable. I'm mad at myself.
> 
> Anyway, Brennan and I share the same frustration with the PHB making all "half" races be half-human. Gimme the good shit! Mix it up!
> 
> I love Garthy, they were created somehow with me in mind.
> 
> Warning: discussions of infidelity

They hadn’t _meant_ to make Fig uncomfortable. If her mum wanted to blow off some steam, that was her business, but there was something more about it that neither Sandralynn herself nor Fig were willing to disclose. So, after what looked to be a disaster of an encounter between young Fabian Seacaster and Captain Whitlaw, Garthy felt the need to at least assure Fig that their intent hadn’t been to harm. That she was welcome to express discomfort if they overstepped a boundary. The Golden Gardens was meant to be a haven, after all.

And, eyes cast to the side at the young werewolf lass who reminded Garthy of someone they knew and loved, Fig confessed the source of her discomfort. Not that her mum had sought out Garthy for pleasure, but that she had— _apparently_ repeating a pattern that seemed personal to Fig—cheated on her current partner.

That wouldn’t do. Communication, consent, and comfort were Garthy’s three big rules. So they tried to apologize to Fig, personally, but Fig kept interrupting. Insisting it wasn’t _their_ fault, _they didn’t know_ , that _she_ was the one making that foolish choice for both of them, and then she let slip who she was cheating on.

**_Jawbone._ **

Oh. _Oh_. And the way Fig’s eyes kept darting to the young werewolf, the way Kristen’s arms were around her, the low voices, the quiet anger of the two young girls made more sense.

Sandralynn was with _Jawbone_ —wonderful, clever, _loving_ Jawbone—and _this_ young werewolf was related to him somehow _and_ —

Trust was important. Even in Garthy’s line of work _but_ —

Patterns and betrayal and pain.

 _She_ didn’t blame them but they blamed themself.

 ** _Jawbone_**.

Sad she had hurt them, Fig apologized but _no_. Even adults make poor decisions and, _quite frankly_ , this was a _right_ fuckup.

They parted ways, offering another apology. Not much else they _could_ do save hope that things turned out okay. That they hadn’t ruined something for Jawbone.

Their dreams that night were silent. Not prophetic, like they were wont to be, but not dark and foreboding either. Just a dreadful nothing.


	15. Riz — QuietChelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like stream of consciousness shit like this. It's a good way to understand a character. Kalina is Riz if he didn't have a concience. Kalina is Riz if he cared less about other people over the end goal. Kalina is Riz if they hadn't gotten him to stop shooting off Biz's fingers. That's why she's terrifying, both to him, and to me.
> 
> Anyway, Riz is ADHD at the least and also Murph only plays weird paladin dudes and you have to appreciate his consistency.
> 
> Warning: emotional manipulation, self deprecating thoughts

He can’t move. He can’t move and she is there and he can’t move. He can’t move and Fabian is gone and she’s right there and he can’t move.

(The sword! You fucking moron, the sword!)

He can’t move and she’s talking and he’s talking and sure, he wants to know but he wants to keep her busy because Fabian is gone and she is evil and he may not know why but she is and he has to leave. If she’s working with the Nightmare King—and she is empirically working for that awful son of a bitch—then she will hurt them. He can’t move and Fabian is gone and his sword is close and he has to leave because if she’s here then the others are in danger and he can’t have that. He has to keep them safe but he can’t move so he has to let her talk. Let her think she’s won.

“You dig and dig until your claws bleed but that won’t bring him back” like he doesnt already know how his own brain is broken, a spinning gear loose in a grand mechanism. He doesn’t need to fake the fear and the quiver in his voice. He is terrified and he can’t move and he wants to know why and he asks, in a voice that is more child than private investigator and he should be ashamed of himself but he remembers Fabian’s face and Ragh’s fear and how so few people can see her in the picture and he can and why is that and he shoves his indignation down and lets himself be afraid because he needs her to talk.

(It’s close, within reach. Keep her talking. Buy time for the others. The sword and then run, if you can.)

He can’t move and she talks and calls him “bud” and “kiddo” and the familiarity sets his teeth on edge and he wants to claw his skin off because it makes him feel dirty but he can’t move and she says people will die and no. No they won’t. So he grabs his sword and says a one liner and Misty Steps off but she follows and he can’t move still and that was his plan and he’s cornered again, only worse.

Question for question and he can’t not tell her but he’s not a good liar and he tries he tries he tries but it slips out and fucking no she’s not but Ragh’s mom and he panics but it’s for Fabian, for his friends, for his party and he can apologize later but now he knows he’s safe and he can’t move but he wants to collapse. She laughs and disappears and there’s screaming and Fabian is gone and he can move and he runs runs runs to tell them, to panic and Cathilda is already off so he feels better because she can find him for sure.

And Ragh is in a panic and everyone is worried and he can’t tell them that he sold Lydia Barkrock for Fabian’s safety but now it’s worse because he knows. He knows she’s more like him than he’d like to admit. And he knows she is fake and smooth and calm and has powerful, dangerous friends and they have to move or she’ll do worse if they don’t stop the Nightmare King now, because the death toll will rise.

He can move but his heart is in his mouth and he trusts Cathilda but he worries that maybe he can’t trust himself because the sheer calculating evil Kalina expressed was more than anything he’s ever seen. Kalvaxis was evil, but he was loud and angry. Biz was evil in the simpering and slimy way of men who think they are deserving of attention. Penelope was evil in a Mean Girl sevenfold way. Daybreak was evil in a religious adult in power way. But Kalina?

She’s a funhouse mirror, more scary than “Baron” had been because she isn’t a lie, she is someone who was so so smart and so so clever and so so selfish that she’ll throw away everything to torment others if it means more for herself.

So even if they can sleep tonight, he isn’t going to. Not well.

He wants to call his mom.

He wants to go home.

He wants to solve this mystery.

He can only do two of them at once. He has to be selfless. So he can move but this is a choice made for him. This is a choice he made a long time ago.

He holds his sword close and thanks whatever god may be listening—though his mind wanders to Yes? and the inherent doubt within it—that he’s paranoid enough. That he’s selfish enough. That he’s violent enough.

Because he can move and Fabian is okay but next time may be different because she’s not wrong and that’s what’s so fucking scary about it.


	16. Riz (pt.2) — QuietChelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tattoo parlor that lets you get a tattoo while drunk should be shut down because that is illegal. Anything is legal in international waters (to a degree) but regardless!
> 
> Don't drink kids, it's bad for you.
> 
> Warning: self harm (ish)

Once the world clears up, the panic of the night before receding, and light filters in to their rooms, Riz finally has a chance to _breathe_.

And by breathe, of course, its more that Riz is committing to a fantastic and terrifying panic spiral. Record breaking fucking speed. Zero to sixty in less than a day! _Go Riz_! Fucking lose your goddamn mind you complete knob!

The _worst_ part of this breakdown is that it’s not even over anything particularly panic-worthy. It’s all about the goddamn _tattoos_.

 _Somehow_ , in a drunken and—he vaguely remembers doing snuff with Ragh and Fabian and how fucking “one of the boys” he felt as he just fucked his brain two ways to Tuesday— _maybe high_ stupor, he got his whole body just _stamped_ with nonsense tattoos.

(Assuming, of course, that the snuff they were doing had anything stronger than tobacco in it. Assuming, again, that tobacco didn’t do weird shit to goblinkind. Assuming, a third thing, that somehow snuff and alcohol mixed really fucking terribly and just drove him to make more-than-average dumb teenager decisions.)

Okay but, sure, not _nonsense_ nonsense, but they’re pointless to have on his body forever and ever until after his skin has rotted off and-or he’s had them magically or surgically removed?!

He has the words “ **Night Yorb** ” on his collar. _Night_. Fucking. _Yorb_. Considering that clue had to fucking do with goddamn Garthy O'Brien, why the _hell_ did drunk-Riz fucking get that shit on his body permanently probably forever?!

“ **Crown** ” is at least useful. Remember what you’re on about. Find the Crown. Find Adaine’s mom. Stop everything from happening. Go home. Never leave again.

“ **Lies** ” fucking “Baron”. Goddamn he doesnt wanna think about that. _Fucking hell._

Word after word. Phrase after phrase. Black, blocky letters detailing clues and ideas because drunk-Riz decided a murderboard wasn’t enough. Needed to keep his information close, on itchy, tired, terrified goblin skin.

The phrase “ **Shadowcat** ” on his arm gives him pause though. The glaring yellow of Kalina’s eyes. The way she, even with Riz’s darkvision, was almost invisible in the darkness. The cold and cordial way she addressed him like he was an errant child and she was doing what was right. Disciplining him.

The fact that, two rooms over, Adaine, Fig, and Gorgug dealt with Ragh under her—or the Nightmare King's—control. The fact that Fabian _almost died._ The fact that he couldn’t do anything, that she has him pinned, that _he sold out Lydia Barkrock_.

He wants to claw those words off his skin, mar the ink beneath the healing wound, make it jagged nothingness.

 _He wants to die_.

And beneath curled fingers, this mistake he’s going to live with mocks him.

“ **Shadowcat** ”, in dark, black, broad letters. A memento to his fucking ego.

His arm itches and he _refuses_ to scratch.


	17. Kalina — fangirlsftw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme preface this with saying that the relationship and feeling that Kalina is chasing here is a rivalry or nemesiship. Not romantic. I wrote this and then immediately my brain said "hey, remember homestuck? People will ship this if you let them and this wording is a little vague." So I'm saying now: no.
> 
> Onward to the meat of things: Kalina, as I've said before, is incredibly interesting. Partially because she is so like Riz. Partially because she is terrifyingly calm.
> 
> Idk what her actual deal is, but kudos to Brennan for making me actually scared for the kids. Because she called him "kiddo" and "sport". She talked to him like the (kinder) other adults do. But she was going to kill them. Torture them. And she didn't.
> 
> So Brennan, if you are reading this: good fucking job. I love her.
> 
> Warning: emotional manipulation

It’s a pity he’s so much like his mother.

That’s what keeps her from playing too nice. He’s _far_ too similar to his mother.

Oh, _granted_ , Pok had a strong moral compass as well. He was a rather lawful guy, after all, and she had spent a long time as his partner, so she knew his little eccentricities with regards to what is and is not “right”. But Sklonda? She had a moral compass made of lodestones and lightning. There is Right and there is Wrong and, while there is a soft grey space _sometimes_ , it is mostly one or the other.

So it is a pity, in the service of _what_ she does and _who_ she works for, that Riz shares his mother’s moral compass. That he isn’t more like Pok, who would let her lie.

“We can’t _not_ do this.” He had said and _oh_ , baby, _buddy_ , you _can_. You can stop and go home and repeat the year and it will be _all dandy_! But he steels his gaze and counters “More people will be sent. They’ll die. We can stop it _now_.”

He’s sitting there, pinned to the chair he’s in, and glaring at her and she feels a warmth flutter in her chest because that’s a look _Pok_ gave a crooked politician before he put a bullet in his head. That’s a look _Pok_ gave a pirate before he removed the knife in their kidney. That’s a look _Pok_ gave the villains of his life and to have his son look at her like that?

_It’s **almost** like he’s back._

But he’s _not_ because Riz is _also_ his mother’s son and he’s clever and brave and _stupid_ and _**a child**_ and he slips up, which is something Pok _never_ did, not when it _mattered_. He barters for his friend’s safety and she can use that and he looks at her with that glare and there is warmth in her chest because she remembers the last person Pok fixed with that glare.

She remembers who _killed_ that person. That monster. _That dragon._

She remembers who ate Kalvaxis in retribution.

And she leaves him behind, hoping that he will be more Pok than his mother because his _mother_ would compartmentalize and prioritize but _Pok_ would focus in, and she would be _all_ he thought about.

And the thought of being someone’s _everything_ , even as a rival and nemesis, after _so long_ in the shadows is exhilarating. _**Wonderful**_. The _most_ interesting thing she could think of.

 _Just_ shy of killing Lydia Barkrock for her son’s friend’s little _faux pas_. That will be interesting too.

She _can’t wait_ to pluck the demon gem from her chest and set it free.

She _can’t wait_ for someone to look at her like that again. With more hatred than fear. Horror and rage. It’s _so boring_ being invisible and it’s _so nice_ to be seen.

So she hopes there’s more Pok in Riz than Sklonda. Because _then_ she will be noticed and hunted and dogged. It’ll almost be like nothing has changed.

Almost…

_**Almost…** _


	18. Garthy O'Brien (pt.2) — QuietChelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jawbone is...he's a lot. I love him in sincerity. All sincerity. I love Jawbone so much and, as such, so does Garthy.
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

He was only passing through. That’s fine, a lot of people only pass through Leviathan and the Golden Gardens are just a single place inside the macroosm of the floating pirate city. There were lots of folks that Garthy only saw once and that was fine and dandy insofar as they were concerned because they were just people but…

There was something extremely interesting about this one.

His name was Jawbone O'Shaugnessy and he was a werewolf. Not suffering from lycanthropy—as many others would have apologized before going down on Garthy, as if their condition was a sort of STI they needed to inform every partner they had of—but a werewolf. Proudly half-shifted, furry, and happily aware of the attention he drew. He was a werewolf, full-stop, and he was very interesting.

He was also an extremely giving lover.

When all was said and done, when Garthy was paid for their services, Jawbone stayed and asked after them. Made small talk. Learned more about them. And, only when prompted, he gave up some information on himself.

He was human. He’s going to disembark in a couple days. He has family in Solace—specifically in a small place called Elmville. He wouldn’t mind not being a werewolf, but he currently is using his status as a statement against the prejudice against those who consider it an affliction. He was stopping in Leviathan to stock up on some plugs and hookups for his deals on shore. He likes making people feel better about themselves.

He’s extremely similar to Garthy themself.

In the morning, after Jawbone presses a warm kiss to their forehead and hands them a cup of coffee, he leaves and, somehow, there is an empty space in Garthy’s chest. And that is unique and interesting.

Just like Jawbone himself.


	19. Fabian (pt.2) — fangirlsftw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Fabian.
> 
> I love hurting Fabian.
> 
> These are not mutually exclusive facts.
> 
> Fabian knows a comfortable life. He does not know much comfort.
> 
> Warning: mild child neglect

Fabian Aramais Seacaster does not find himself lacking in comfort, but he would like to be comforted some times.

“Have you ever seen a man die?” He asks his father, hoping for something to assuage his fears and his father simply stirs the storm inside of him.

“Yes,” Bill Seacaster says, proudly, and then launches into the story of his own father’s death at his hands. Fabian, unsure of how to process this, simply smiles and buries the tempest underneath his skin and hopes his eyes don’t give him away.

There is a smaller part of him that wants to go to his mother and ask her opinion on the matter but…Hallarial Seacaster is not someone who is cognizant of the situation most times. In fact, if she isn’t indulging in lush tendencies, she’s opting to shut down her senses and be nothing for hours on end. Fabian can only assume that if he asked her about death, he’d only receive a long and drawling lecture about how his father—and, by transitive property of bloodlines, himself—will die long before she will. Probably an additional seven or so minutes of noting that she will one day outlive even his children, should he produce them.

That, in and of itself, is depressing and he would rather take the tempestuous and raucous recounting of murder over a depressing and horrifying reminder of his own mortality—which would, in turn, remind him of seeing Gorgug and Kristen’s bodies as well as the lunch lady’s bludgeoned corpse and the panicked look on Adaine’s face just hours before. He isn’t certain he could handle remembering that in such vivid detail again. He’s absolutely certain that he will have a hard time not remembering that moment.

After all is said and done, however, it is Cathilda that helps the most. It’s a simple gesture, one he won’t recognize for what it is until much later, but she brings him a plate of kippers, some water, and a freshly warm blanket. Then she presses a chaste kiss on his forehead, wishes him well, and exits without much more said.

He never once asks her to do this.

She doesn’t need him to


	20. Ayda Aguefort — QuietChelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similar to Jaina Bronzebeard, I love Adya Aguefort. I really, really do. Some of it is me projecting my own neurological issues with understanding language versus intent and some of it is that I'm big gay.
> 
> (Most of it is the big gay thing. Shoosh.)
> 
> No warnings needed, unless you count mentioning Arthur Aguefort as needing a warning, in which case: Arthur Aguefort.

There is a saying: a bird in a gilded cage. That is how Ayda often feels.

It is, of course, foolish. Feelings are not exactly her forte, but even she is aware that feeling trapped in a situation she has chosen for herself, far out of reach of her father’s nonsense and from under her sisters’ wings, is ridiculous and pointless. She is doing what she wants (studying magic and the movement of the stars in conjunction with each other), where she wants (in the library of Leviathan, the floating pirate city, unbeholden to any one land’s laws), because she wants (because she wants to and also knowledge is power, so there is very little that can be said about desiring more power—though what can be said is that absolute power corrupts absolutely, so she will attempt to try and stay away from absolute power, but that is easy enough when one’s access to said power via knowledge is restricted to whatever it is the library of Leviathan gathers, which is to say: not too much, to her chagrin). And besides: Leviathan is not well put-together, let alone gilded.

But there are many days when she feels trapped, watching the stars and the moving horizon, and wonders if she made the right decision. If she would have been happier elsewhere. If, perhaps, she would have done better and flourished under the slightly neurotic and unusual guiding hand of Arthur Aguefort.

But no, Arthur would not have made a good mentor. He was barely a father. And no, she was good where she was, keeping Leviathan from mooring itself. And no, she was content surrounded by books and strange pirates with strange rules and strange laws, who said what they meant and meant what they said.

A gilded cage, maybe, but she has the key. She can leave if she sees fit. She just finds more need here, with her talents best used for the betterment of a strange collection of people, than elsewhere.

She is free to leave when she wishes.

She just doesn’t want to just yet.

(Besides…where would she go? And who would have her?)


	21. Fabian (pt.3) — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who has a type and whose type are those that have the high, high walls. Me! It's my favorite bullying target: Fabian!
> 
> (Found family, best family. The blood of the covenant and all that. Fuck yeah.)
> 
> Warning: mild nightmare things, existential dread, bad coping mechanisms

His name is Fabian Aramais Seacaster.

His father is William Seacaster.

He is a legacy, if _anything_.

His sword, his home, his skills, his funds, his clothes, his wit, his name. There is not a _single_ thing he owns that has not once belonged to his father. There is not a single thing he can call _his_.

(A faint and lingering shadow of a man, older and worn out, smiling as he lauds his father’s legacy. He has done nothing for himself but build up a temple to someone else’s achievements. He is a hollow man. This is a nightmare. This is his _future_. It is _terrifying_.)

His name is Fabian Seacaster and he is _broken_.

Something inside of him has snapped in two, leaving jagged shards floating in the ether of his self.

Scared, alone, and exhausted, he is horrified, but this terror, this mortality, is _his_. As strange and terrifying and _monstrous_ it is—this lingering and drawling dread that rests now, calm and like a heavy scarf, against his collarbone—it is _his_. _Not_ his father’s. _Not_ a legacy of dread and fear and internal strife. His _own_ lurking monsters, hiding in his closet, waiting for him to cock up one more time before they drag him in the undertow. And it is a welcome terror, because it does not belong to the Seacaster name, but to _Fabian himself._

(His chest rattles and he looks back to his maid, to _the help_ , for help. He cannot breathe and he has trouble moving because this _fucking_ squid-faced _shit_ has him caught in his own mind. His body locks up and he cannot help. He cannot do a damn thing and it is fucking _awful_.)

His name is Fabian and there is _one more_ thing he has to his name and his alone.

_His friends._

And _fuck_ , while that isn’t a lot, it’s _enough_ , because it’s _something_.

And they don’t give a damn about his name, about him being _Fabian Aramais_ _Seacaster_ , but about him as a person. They care about _Fabian_ , Seacaster be _damned_.

And, _fuck_ , but that’s worth more than any amount of treasure his father has ever amassed.

(He does not dream that night and it is a blessing. The stress that itches at his limbs is to save what he has made for himself. To rescue their friend. To save Adaine. Not once does he think of Aelwen. Not once does he think of his father. It is his friends and only that. Their safety and that is all.)


	22. Alistair Ash — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alistair deserved better but alas.
> 
> *salutes the boy, who was valid for wanting to kill Fabian*

When you’re a born tief, you don’t got much going for you. People see your skin and your horns and they assume some fiendish shit and, okay, some of them, but not all. Some are infernal. Some even worse! But it’s fucking worse than some other races get— though the goblins and orcs and some of the monstrous races get it bad too—and it makes life damn hard.

So then opportunity strikes. Knocks at his door as he’s busy being a lightfinger in Leviathan. News of someone who gives magic for pay. A pirate!

William Seacaster is dead but he lives on through the magic you can pay for.

And, fuck, yeah. He can swing that. He can praise Bill Seacaster up and down, working the trickle down way his system is, paying through his nose for spells. It makes him something. It gives him something to work with.

It draws away from “tief”. It makes him “magic tief”, which is new and neat and cool and fuck yeah.

And then, like a god come to earth, an angel to bless him, Bill’s most faithful, is Fabian Aramais Seacaster.

And that was well worth the wait alone.


	23. Ayda Aguefort (pt.2) — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain, at any time: Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda
> 
> Look, I love her. I love her so much.
> 
> Warning: mentions of the abuse Adaine endured in Fallinal

They are refreshing. Their honesty, their frank nature, their willingness to spell things out for her benefit, their wild decisions. They are _so intriguing_ and she does not want to go back to Leviathan.

Leviathan has been her home for _so_ long. From the moment she could escape—no, not _escape_ , but perhaps _leave_? Or _be free of_? Every thought she has regarding her early childhood reeks of _prison_ and _capture_ and this colors her thoughts but she cannot find the _right_ word for what her leaving meant to her in its _most honest form_ —she wanted to _choose_ and _she chose_ Leviathan. _She_ chose a place outside of law, outside of land, where _no one_ cared about her name _or_ her race, but that she could keep Leviathan afloat and adrift. And _then_ , like some kind of angel—if she believed in angels outside of having celestial beings described to her in tomes within the Leviathan library _and also_ Garthy O'Brien’s very existence—in walks Adaine Abernant and her friends and they are _so much more_ than _anything_ she could have _ever_ expected.

Which is a fair thing, as she doubts she could expect having her heart ( _metaphorically_ ) stolen by the clear-spoken elven Oracle and a loud and brash tiefling.

Adaine is her _first friend_. _Ever_. _Full stop_. Adaine matches her wit and is kind and says what she means. When Ayda makes sure that she clarifies she will not be in debt to any person—the thought of which makes her skin crawl as they could ask _anything_ of her and that is _unknown_ and she _does not like_ unknown, _especially_ where her autonomy is concerned—Adaine smiles and _insists_ it is payment for services rendered. She buys a spell. She sits and talks. She says she will be her friend and _then_ , in a move that is a welcome surprise, a jolt to the left, offers to sell her the technique she used to summon her familiar, the _extremely_ round Bogarial Frogarial.

Adaine is her _friend_ and she trusts her with _her_ friends and there is _something_ in her chest that opens when she receives the Sending requesting her help, and the fear she feels is more sharp than _anything_ before. She has _never_ feared for someone else before and she does for Adaine and it is _painful_. She _doesn’t like_ the pain of this _fear_.

When they save Adaine, arriving to see her captive— _captive_! Adaine Abernant! Oracle to _No One_! Divination specialist! _Captive_ like a _bird_ like a _pet_ like _herself_ —in an orb, she says “go get my sister.” Selfless, _smart_ Adaine says “ _save her first_.” And Ayda _does_ because Adaine is her _friend_ and she has asked this of her and she goes to get Adaine’s sister and she is _sick_ and _exhausted_ and a fire sets in her chest because _this_ is what they wanted to do with _Adaine_ , _her friend Adaine_ , and she wants to _set this whole place ablaze_ for her. But first, _her friend_. _Her friend Adaine_ and _her_ friends and _their plan_. And _then_ fire and worry and filling the space in her chest.

But there is _also_ Fig Faeth, tiefling, rockstar, who is loud and smiling and _sad_. She says what she means but she wears others faces. When she claims Adaine as _her_ best friend—a fleeting terror ripping through Ayda at the implication of this, as she does not know what that would mean, save that if Adaine is _her_ best friend, then _she_ is also _Fig’s_ best friend—Fig also _happily_ claims Ayda as her best friend _by transitive property_. When Ayda asks questions that make others look strangely at her, Fig laughs and _answers_. When she asks for permission to pick up Fig and Kristen, they consent because _they understand._

And in combat—as Adaine was _unable_ to be a combatant but Fig was with her and Kristen and Ayda to rescue her from her captors, which _apparently_ included Adaine’s father and a _very rude_ high elf woman—Fig apologizes as she realizes that her taking the form of Arthur Aguefort makes her uncomfortable. _Again_ and _again_ , _long_ after it would _actually_ matter, _she_ _wants_ _to_ and _tries_ to make sure that _Ayda understands_ it was _not meant to hurt her._ And there is _comfort_ there.

In the _final_ act of strangeness that seems to make up _everything_ that Fig is, she invites her to join in on a sleepover. On a ritual that women their age are often partaking in that she missed out on, due to her upbringing. And when she says to Fig that she is taking her cues from her, she responds in the affirmative. She even goes so far as to wipe away the tears of fire she cries when Fig tells her _she can stay_ , that she is _welcome_ to _stay_.

There are parts of her that belong to Leviathan. There are parts of her that irrevocably belong to Arthur, no matter how much she _hates_ that fact. There are parts that are hers.

And _now_? Now there are parts of herself she has given to Fig and Adaine, her first ever friends.

_Perhaps more._

Only time will tell and she wishes to have _as much_ of that as she can clutch to her chest.


	24. Garthy O'Brien (pt.3) & Sklonda Gukgak (pt.2) — anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Ayda? I love Ayda. This was before the revelation she lived many lives so I have edited the original Tumblr post a bit.
> 
> (I love Ayda.)
> 
> I also love Sklonda and am so fucking stoked about Pok. So goddamn stoked. Fucking amazing. Poor woman.
> 
> No additional warnings needed.

Garthy remembers the first time they ever saw Ayda. Years and _years_ back, Leviathan’s course was charted by a team of astrologists and some ramshackle crows nest crew. A twisted and winding path that took a toll on the structural integrity of the floating city as a whole. One day, in the middle of the ocean, _far_ off from any visible land, it was to some small shock to _everyone_ when a small child found their way to the Golden Gardens, makes their way to the main pavilion there, and asks for Garthy by name.

“I have been told that if I were to find myself on Leviathan, Garthy O'Brien is the name I should speak. Is this person here? May I see them?” The child—dark-skinned, eyes like orbs of fire, brilliant hair a flickering light, with wings and bird legs—stared up at one of the bouncers outside the Gardens, speaking with a clear and sharp voice. “Please let me through. I would not like to set fire to your establishment, but I _will_ if you continue to detain me.”

Garthy, who watched the child politely ask for entry, be denied, and gently state their intention louder, laughed from their place at the bar. “ _Now, now_ , let them in. They asked for me by name. Be _polite_ , luvs.”

The child turned their fiery gaze up to them, mouth pinched in a pensive and unreadable expression. “Are _you_ Garthy O'Brien?”

“That’s me, _yes_. How can I be of service?” They’re precocious and bright— _literally_ , as it seems their feathers and hair and eyes are made of fire—and there’s _something_ about them that seems familiar in a warm and fond way. A kinship they feel with this child, like a magnetism.

“My name is Ayda Aguefort and I wish to find room and board here on Leviathan. I was informed by _many_ people who spoke of the pirate city that _you_ , Garthy O'Brien, would afford sanctuary to those seeking it, as _I_ am,” the child, Ayda, said. Each word was _carefully_ enunciated, their facial expression _almost_ unchanging.

“And what brings _you_ to Leviathan in the first place, young Mx. Ayda?” Garthy addressed Ayda with all the respect they had been giving to Garthy and the bouncers at the Gardens. Like demands like, after all.

“ _Miss_ ,” Ayda corrected, “and as I said before: _sanctuary_. This is the one place I could _possibly_ be away from the person I am seeking to escape and, _as such_ , it is a valuable asset. If I can find a job here and earn my own keep, better yet, but I am uncertain as to Leviathan’s policy on child labor.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Although, should it make any difference, I _am_ part phoenix, and remnants of my past lives' memories are held within me. One _could_ argue that this makes me _much_ older than I appear, though if that does not curry favor with you, I am _also_ a proficient divination wizard.”

Garthy held up a hand to stop her from continuing to talk, a faint smile on their lips. A phoenix, huh? That must have been the tug of kinship they felt when she arrived. Celestial creatures tend to be rare, so finding two of them in one place is unusual. A draw can form between them.

“Luv, if you think I’d turn a child away because of their _usefulness_ then you’ve been misinformed. _Come in_. Let’s get you a place to sleep, and _then_ we can talk logistics.” And, as an aside and, maybe, to curry her favor, they added, “Though I can’t say that Leviathan has need for child labor laws, so _who knows_ what kind of mischief you can get into, _hm_?”

 _This_ got a loud, squawking laugh from Ayda, though she did follow them deeper into the Gardens without complaint.

And the rest is _fond_ history.

* * *

Sklonda Gukgak was known as _many_ things. Three foot four of whoop-ass. A _damn_ fine detective. A _bit_ of a hardass. The _nicest_ person on the force. _Extremely_ patient.

That last trait is something she had to _learn_.

She had always been _impulsive_. It’s part of the reason Pok fell in love with her. “You took _one_ _look_ at that man, one look at _me_ , _grabbed_ my arcubus, and fired three shots. _All_ of them missed, but _I swore_ , in _that_ moment, you were some angel sent down to save me from this asshole with a magic relic.” It was his _favorite_ story. It was _how they met_. And _sure_ , the perp got away, and _sure_ , Kalina found him and made him sing to the tune of _four broken fingers and a large cut out of his ear_ , but it’s what jumpstarted their relationship. An impulsive action. One that _failed_ , even.

Having Riz helped even her out. Whether it was having a clever goblin child who would sometimes disappear for _hours_ _on end_ because he managed to find a way to get on top of the fridge and gorge himself on Hydrox cookies then take a nap in the cabinets, _or_ the eternal panic of waiting for the news one day that Pok _died_ and they don’t have a body because he’s _technically_ not even a Solesian citizen anymore, her temper flattened and she _learned patience_.

The _first_ time Riz disappeared, she worked herself into a froth for an hour and a half, _only_ to find him napping in a hidey-hole in a place he shouldn’t’ve been able to get to. The _seventeenth_ time Riz disappeared, she just made a quick easy mac and he appeared like a cockroach from the air vent with a new story about one of their neighbors. The _first_ time Pok was late coming home, _no_ message, _no_ warning, she lost _days_ of sleep. The _twenty-fourth_ time he was late coming home, she didn’t _waste_ , but she did _pine_.

After she was told he was dead, she buried the sick sensation of _relief_ under mountains of patience and told her son— _their_ son—that half his world was gone.

 _His_ grief was _more_ than enough for both of them. _His_ fear _more_ than enough. _His_ tears _more_ than enough. She just had to _wait it out._ _Be there for him_.

 _Be patient_.

Which is _why_ , as she stood in front of her son and his friends and a partially destroyed house post-party, hands on her hip and a headache _already_ brewing, she was _grateful_ for the lessons she’d already learned. This was the _third_ time she’d found him and his friends at a crime scene _they caused_. The _first_ time, she almost passed out from the sheer stress of it.

 _At this point?_ If she _didn’t_ find him at the site of a large battle, his friends standing behind and beside him, _beaten_ but _triumphant_? She would _worry_.

Because at least _that_ way she knows he’s _safe_.

She doesn’t have to take to the widow’s walk again.

All she needed was some _patience_.


	25. Ayda Aguefort (pt.3) — QuietChelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was Figaydaine and, while it's not canon, I do appreciate Figayda being HELLA canon. Also this was out before the actual confrontation with Aelwen happened so I was trying to use my Fandom Cassandra powers to dictate some kind of resolution.
> 
> Alas.
> 
> I still have hopes for Aelwen.
> 
> (Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda Ayda)
> 
> I just........y'all should know by now. Y'all should know.
> 
> Warning: standard Aelwen verbal abuse

Ayda’s hands shake and her talons dig into the dirt underneath her as Aelwen Abernant—Adaine’s sister, who had been weak, had been broken, had been saved—assaults Adaine with her words. Even though she cannot move her thin frame, every syllable from her lips is a dart coated in toxins. It is only the sight of Adaine’s shoulders—broad and steady, pushed back as she stands at ease in front of her assailant—and Fig’s warm hand on the small of Ayda’s back that stops her from Banishing Aelwen to a demiplane for what she’s saying.

“ _Calm down, babe,_ ” Fig Messages, the smell of cloves and leather and the feeling of a low chord against her teeth resonating in her magic. “ _Adaine has this. Put your fists out and wait, okay?_ ”

“ _She doesn’t have the right,_ ” Ayda Messages back, her hands tense but at her side.

“ _It’s going to be alright._ ” Cloves, leather, and a chord.

“If it isn’t my failure of a sister and her idiot friends. And you seem to have picked up a pet bird as well? Do they sell mistakes as souvenirs or is this just a talent of yours? Gathering up nobodies, that is?” Aelwen has a tone that is so like Adaine and so not. It strikes Ayda then that, if Anguin Abernant can take someone like Adaine and make her terrified and cowed, if Anguin can take someone like Adaine and make her afraid and halted in her progress, if Anguin can take someone like Adaine and make her less, then who’s to say he didn’t do the same to this bitter husk of a sister she has?

“ _I’m upset that he was only buried,_ ” she Messages back Fig, not even thinking about it. Part of it is that it’s only polite to answer Messages. The rest is that she likes the smell and feeling of Fig’s magic and, maybe, if they continue to Message, she can continue to enjoy it freely.

Is that selfish? If so, she doesn’t care.

Fig lets out a soft huff of laughter that puffs warm against the nape of Ayda’s neck. She almost misses what happens next.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call my friends mistakes and nobodies.” Adaine’s voice is clear and commanding. She speaks only truths and asks for what is fair. Aelwen frowns, pinched mouth opening to retort but Adaine cuts her off. “And, because I feel like you deserve to know this: you are currently in the Land of Lotharial, outside of Kalminal Tower, where you were kept prisoner for several months before I was captured and, in coming to rescue me, my friends saved you as well, leaving father underneath ten stories of rubble. I’m not certain if you remember any of that, because you did something incredibly clever, but I wanted you to hear it from me.”

Ayda wonders if being the Oracle gives Adaine a command of speech in all its forms. Every word she speaks has power, has weight, and when she is done, the silence is cavernous. Ringing, like a cathedral after the choir comes to a rest.

“ _Fuck yeah. See what I meant?_ ” Fig Messages. Ayda inhales the scent of her magic and hums the tone in her throat. It’s almost too low for her vocal chords to make properly. Just out of reach.

Very Fig.

“ _Yes. I understand. Adaine knows how to handle her sister. So why are we here?_ ”

“You…killed him?” Aelwen’s question is almost inaudible, eyes wide and trained upward on Adaine’s face. Ayda can’t see Adaine’s expression but it must be steel and stone for all the searching Aelwen is doing.

“If leaving him there while we ran for our lives is killing, if only by inaction, then yes.” Adaine’s answer is firm, resolute. Even with her back turned to them, Ayda can see her shoulders pinch as she hugs Boggy to her chest. “If I had my way though,” Adaine adds in a tone that could be petulant and could also be derisive, depending, “I would’ve run him through with a sword myself. But we had to prioritize retreat over personal vendettas.”

“ _Emotional support. Adaine is stronger than she used to be, but…family is hard._ ” Fig’s Message draws to mind Ayda’s own father. The terror that grips her chest when she thinks about him. The hollowness. The aching. She nods.

“ _Understood._ ”

But to stand there, proud and resolute, facing down someone who hurt you but who also is of your kin? That is a power that is not inherent to the Oracle. That is wholly Adaine. And it’s breathtaking.

She’s so glad they’re friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to request some of these on [my Tumblr](https://thesleepiestsheepy.tumblr.com/ask)!


End file.
